Clean Slate
by rohan73
Summary: Eponine wakes up to a place she's never seen before, planted into a life she'd never imagined for herself without inkling of the events before her lids fluttered open; a clean slate. Her path crosses with Enjolras, no longer the leader of the revolution, but a man forced to live within walls; a miserable shadow of the Apollo he once had been.
1. Introduction

**SUMMARY:** Eponine wakes up to a place she's never seen before, to meet the eyes of people she does not recognize, planted into a life she'd never imagined for herself without inkling of the events before her lids fluttered open; a clean slate. Her path crosses with Enjolras, no longer the leader of the revolution, but a man forced to live within walls of lies with a mask; a miserable shadow of the Apollo he once had been.

**A/N:** Hello people! Here's an Intro-Chapter for you. This story has been an idea I've been playing with for some time now, and though I have yet to reveal the bigger details, would you please do me a favor and let me know if it tugs any interest in you?

Well then, read on. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

"She's still alive. I can take the bullet out, and stop the bleeding. But I am worried about her head." The young student of medicine, Joly spoke as he checked her pulse and both wounds: one on her forehead caused by the fall and the other on her shoulder by a bullet from the national guard, both angrily gushing out blood.

The crowd around the young gamine was quickly growing. Marius, who was cradling her unconscious body, was deep in shock, unable to form any sort of response.

The atmosphere grew solemn; a silent prayer said with hushed words floated from this barricade of dreams, eyes turned downcast at the realization that they not be as lucky as the girl, they might not see tomorrow. She was the first to fall, how many more will there be? How many will stay standing at the end of the day?

"Take her into the café, Joly. Make haste." A young man with piercing blue eyes and a red coat, first recovered and quickly ordered his men. "Combeferre!"

The one addressed as Combeferre nodded in understanding, picking up the wounded girl and following Joly to the Corinth to be tended to. As the crowd dissipated with orders from him, he made his way to his devastated friend.

"Marius, rest. She will make it through the night, have faith in Joly and Combeferre." He was sure of it. _Make it through the night, she will. Make it out of this? I could only hope._

"Will we though, Enjolras?" Another man spoke up his body slumped across several furniture that was part of the barricade with a bottle visibly obvious in his hand. "Will we make it through the night too?"

Marius remained unresponsive. Enjolras, shot him a cold look over his shoulder. "Do you still not have faith in the revolution? In the people of France?" _Why are you even here then?_

"No." The drunk said defiantly. "But I have faith in you, and that is enough to get me through."

For once, the great orator and the leader of the revolution stood fazed and speechless. His lips slightly parted, questioning yet oddly believing at the same time. "Drink with me." He heard Grantaire say, he mindlessly took the bottle from his friend's hand. He gave in, took a swig and handed it to Marius who wordlessly took the bottle as well.

All around him he could see his friends settling around the barricade they made. Bottles passed around, pipes lit, an amiable chatter and song wandered through the men, and for a moment one could forget that there were soldiers waiting on the other side. One could ignore the noise of the canons' wheels rolling on cobblestone. In that temporary repose, one could even believe that a gathering of friends like this one would be lived out a hundred times more.

Enjolras took everything in.

Bahorel, with his split lip from the fistfight earlier at the funeral march, was swinging his musket over his head telling some tale. _Honestly, what good is that gun you hold, if you so prefer to fight with your hands? _

Courfeyrac and the gamin, Gavroche - the master and his faithful apprentice – who sat just above the older boy's shoulder singing a merry tune of skirts in summer time. Courfeyrac, despite his smile eyed the little boy every now and then, noticeably concerned about him.

Fueilly and Prouvaire quietly occupying their hands with their craft while sitting amongst friends, here and there listening and joining in, bottles sat loyally by their sides. Feuilly with a brush in one hand and a fan in another, and Prouvaire with a pen poised on his lips as he undoubtedly thought a line over.

And from the corner of his eye, he saw Joly and Combeferre exit the Musain, their features arranged with exhaustion, but their contented and relieved smiles demanded more attention. _Perhaps Marius will be relieved as well._

When he turned to look at Pontmercy, he tried his hardest not to scoff. Marius was back to his lovesick phase again spouting words for his Cosette, talking to Grantaire who didn't seem to pay him any mind. _How quickly he seemed to forget about the mademoiselle who took a bullet for him. And they say I'm foolish for not entertaining love._

He felt an arm drape on his shoulders and turned his head to see Combeferre staring at the men with a slight smile on his face, the feat he had overcome with Joly reinvigorated his spirit. Enjolras followed his gaze. "She will live to see the new dawn we will bring, Enjolras." A sudden flicker of hope he thought he'd lost earlier, ignited in him once again and he felt oddly contented.

There amongst his friends, for the first time since the massive wall of furniture sprouted up, he felt it in his heart that maybe this was not at all insane, that perhaps even if they got damaged and a little broken, they'd still be able to reap what they have sown. There amongst his friends' familiar smiles and roguish smirks at the good news that Joly brought back, he felt the corner of his lips twitch up as well.

They believed in him, and him in them. They believed in a free France. These men were his brothers, and he'd follow them to hell and back.

For the first and last time in that barricade, Enjolras offered a small smile.

* * *

Scanning the lifeless bodies amongst the heaps of wood and glass, Inspector Javert felt oddly out of his element. The events concerning Valjean continued to occupy his thoughts. _He had let me go. Just like that. As if I haven't made his life a living hell all these years. Is it really so easy to forgive?_

He entered the café and allowed his empty eyes to wander at the faces of the group of young men who he knew lead and organized this barricade. He stopped though, at a moment of rare weakness, as he set his sights on the youngest one, the same one who broke his cover last night – Gavroche.

_Such a fiery soul this little thing once held._ He couldn't seem to hate the boy for his distress at being exposed. Just then a thought crossed his mind, Valjean had said, "_There's nothing that I blame you for. You've done your duty, nothing more._" Oddly, he felt similarly towards the boy. He had the guts and wits to point out a traitor, and for that he respected the young revolutionary.

He felt his body quiver, and as if moved by someone other than himself, he lowered himself on the ground, unpinned the medal on his chest and positioned it on the boy's chest. A lonely tear slid down his face and landed on the boy's cheek where it continued to make its way to the bloodstained floor.

_If God had granted me a son, he would be exactly like you: stubborn, clever and brave._

Picking himself up the floor, he realized that there was someone missing. A notable gap between the bodies was enough room for queries to form.

* * *

Montparnasse's had his heart in his throat pounding violently making him short of breath. He steeled himself a moment against a wall carefully re-adjusting the weight of the fragile body in his arms.

He had seen her fall, he heard the men say that she would be fine, and just as the first canons broke through the dawn, he thought that maybe he was too late to make a move and retrieve her.

As he started moving again, he could not help but thank heaven that she'd been unconscious through the whole massacre. It had saved her from death and imprisonment, for they have thought her dead. It was only by mere luck that he had managed to get out before Javert entered the café; he was barely able to whisper an apology to Gavroche, as he abandoned him there.

Now that he succeeded to get Eponine out of harms way, he realized he had no idea where to keep her. To go back to the Thenardiers would be putting her in her grave. To keep her too long in the place he resided would be too risky. He had to put her somewhere where her father would not find her, even if it would mean that she would be out of his reach as well.

Carefully laying Eponine on his cot, he meticulously arranged her form, straightening her clothes and brushing the stray strands that landed on her face off to the side. For a young assassin, he carried out his motions with gentleness akin to a lover. When he was with Eponine, he became a contradiction of everything he is known to be and he could not bring himself to simply be otherwise.

_Forgive me for waiting till something like this could happen before I could save you. I am a coward if anything, but I am here; always here, Ponine. _He graced her forehead with a lingering kiss.

With one last glance, he slipped out the door, locking it as he left. He needed to find somewhere safe for her. _Where to start?_

* * *

The wheels of the carriage halted to a stop, the dust whirling around earlier finally getting a chance to settle back on the street. It was quite a challenge to maneuver and get through the streets leading to La Force due to the recent influx of men taken under arrest from the failed revolution, most of which were young students and working class men.

As Gerard Enjolras step out of the carriage drawn by two fetching black steeds, he straightened his coat and readjusted his cravat. For a man who stood as proud and intimidatingly as he did, with his dark blonde locks, piercing blue eyes and notably well tailored clothes, it was easy to have the crowded path clear as he made his way into the dilapidated prison walls.

The Enjolras name was a well regarded one until lately. It was known for their vast properties scattered outside Paris that were used for the production of wine grapes and wheat, making them one of the largest contributor to the agricultural growth of France. Also, they were known for their successful careers that proved over from generation to generation as lawyers. With this in mind, the family was well established in the higher circle of the French social class, having connections to high places to people who influenced the country and some even had reaches to their European neighbors. Simply stating, the Enjolras name was almost untouchable.

Almost.

* * *

"Reims has been quiet at most. No squabbles or disputes, none of the things you crazy Parisians seem to live for!" An old man with kind eyes said to another man while loading a couple of crates into his wagon, his tone friendly and jesting.

"Ah but you people over there only have your vineyards and champagne to keep you entertained. We have all the lovely women!" the other grinned.

Montparnasse stood a little to the side, quite unnoticed as he took a break from his task. It has been three days, and though Eponine's fever broke the night before, she has yet to wake. The need to get her somewhere safe was growing more urgent as the days gone by. He had already missed two nights with Patron Minette, and they were growing inquisitive.

"Ah the champagne is enough! Yet even so, Paris doesn't hold a monopoly over beauty. The lady of my master's house is quite a vision, has a good heart on her too, just like her husband. I and my family are truly lucky to have been employed in their estate."

"Ha! Perhaps I should move there, no?"

"It would do you a good deal, come with me then, I leave tomorrow at dawn. The master always has his gates open. It really does baffle me just how many come knocking at the doors even at night. Some stay for a day, some for a harvest… but it doesn't mater to my master, he just takes them in, gives them work and pays them just wages. We truly are lucky ones."

The other man had spoken to reply, but Montparnasse did not stay to witness any more of the exchange. An idea had struck him, and he hoped his gut and his hearing were right because Eponine's life depended on it.

* * *

**A/N:** How was it? From this point it could go to so many directions… Leave me a comment or PM me for any of your thoughts/questions/ideas. Would greatly appreciate hearing from you.

Oh, and if you haven't already, I've got another fic under 'Books' that I would really love for you to read and review. Please do so. :)

So, next chapter? Yes? No?


	2. Chapter 1: Dead

**A/N:** Hello there! First off, a great big thank you to those who reviewed, followed, and made this story a fave; awesome, awesome love right there.

So this chapter is going to be a bit heavy and to some degree, dark (ok, maybe not so much). So brace yourselves. I'm hoping this one stir you and not dissuade you.

Well then, read on.

* * *

The private study of the Prefet de Police often only admitted one person, the owner of the study himself. Monsieur Henri Gisquet was a quiet man, a former banker and well connected amongst the wealthy families of France mostly through his prior profession, so it was no surprise when an unannounced visit from the active head of the Enjolras house lead to the presence of another in the cloistered room.

M. Gisquet has been up to his elbows in work these past few days, from Lamarque's funeral to the dismantling of the barricades to the arrests and the ruckus happening at La Force, he really did not wished to be disturbed now. But did he really expect less from Gerard Enjolras?

"I thought I could handle the situation on a lower scale, without adding you to the mix. Yet alas, your watch dog isn't one to budge." M. Gisquet merely smirked. Gerard had gone down to La Force earlier that day and was received by the official heading the arrests and detaining of the rebels. To his dismay and annoyance, unlike most, Inspector Javert was not one to falter when greeted by such a person of importance. To him, the law was the law; it mattered not that you were rich or poor, man or woman, young or old, for every mistake there is a price to pay.

Gerard Enjolras was a wise man to have not attempted anything else with Javert when his simple request to see his son was denied. _Better not stir too much interest, lest much interest was given back_. And for once, he definitely didn't need anymore of it.

M. Gisquet finally set down his pen, and looked up to meet his guest's eyes. The younger man –for the monsieur was beyond 50 and the latter almost 10 years less than him – looked as proud and collected as ever, never mind that he was here to beg for his son. "I hope it did not escape your knowledge that Alexandre was the leaders of one of the more notable barricades. What you are about to ask is not a simple task."

"Alexandre is foolish, but he is still an Enjolras and we do not abandon blood." The man shrugged. "Besides, there are other more notable men in your cells, am I mistaken? Lacaille? Fournier? Sauvageau?"

"I see you've done your research. Still, the name Enjolras is still heavy on the Parisian tongue after the debacle, and we might be fickle, but we take long to forget."

"Move him and some others to Châtelet. Tomorrow night. He'll end up there sooner or later anyway, might as well do it before the tomorrow ends."

The old man was taken aback, and regarded the ever-calm Enjolras on the other side of his desk as if the man was going insane. "Your son had 8 bullets to his body, it's a surprise he survived at all. And now you want to rush sending him off to Chatelet? He'd die…" His words slowed as realization dawned upon him, the gears in his mind clicking and turning fast. "…within hours."

* * *

It was not an easy feat to wander about Paris at night with an unconscious woman on your back, the weight didn't matter, but the image it presented was rather suspicious. Montparnasse stuck to the small alleys, mindful of the eyes in the shadows that might give him away.

His thoughts have been occupied by his plans concerning Eponine and the man from Reims. Half of him ready to hide her in the cart and hope she not be discovered before reaching their destination, believing in the promise of a better life there. Half of him scared at the thought of sending her away with a stranger. He did not steal her away from her father and Javert only to thrust her into a life that could be worst than the one she had before. But truly, could things get any worst for a girl like her?

He had other options, but this one seemed to be a good couple of notches better than the others. He knew he could've sent her to a church or a convent, but he knew her father would look there, and it was too easy for her to return to the streets once she wakes.

He had a friend just an hour outside Paris, who lived in a modest cottage who often offered him refuge when he needed to lay low. He trusted the young mother and her little girl, and he knew the money he left them every time after leaving helped them get by, though she'd always refuse to take it and he'd resorted to leaving it in places where she'd eventually find it. But to leave Eponine there would still be maintaining a dangerous connection to him, which he feared Patron Minette would uncover since they knew of his safe house as well.

Montparnasse came out of his thoughts and sighed with relief as he made out the outline of the cart parked near the alley of one of the better inns in the city, exactly where he found it earlier. He figured, if the man was lying earlier about his master being good and generous, then he wouldn't be staying at such a place with the usual wages of a man with his type of profession. He was at most a grounds keeper or an errand man, yet he was healthier and better dressed, although simply still, than most.

He believed that for all it is worth, surely God didn't allow for her to be taken from death's grip just to be returned to a hell on earth.

Montparnasse sat her on the ground to pick at the lock; once it was successfully open he carried her up and laid her gently on the space between the cargos. He pulled off his coat and folded it into a pillow to secure her head. Once he was satisfied of the position Eponine was in, he allowed himself to sit on the edge and gently reached for her hand. He stared absently at the wall ahead, as his fingers caress the sleeping girl's hand.

He thought back to all the times he wished to have her hand in his, and in consequence, to all the time he had to hide his affections. Falling in love in the profession he was in was simply not advisable; you get paid to hunt people for blood, people are bound to hunt for your blood in return. And what happens to the people close to you? They get caught in the crossfire, sometimes by accident, most of the time on purpose.

How he wished he could have let her know out right, to tell her the words scratching his throat, willing to be uttered. Though he suspects that she has caught on to him, she gave him no sign. And to tell her, well, he will not allow himself to risk it. He resigned himself to the thought that this might be the closest he'll ever get to letting her know.

Time passed them like that. The lights from the inn slowly disappearing one by one as the night deepened, and the footfall on the streets diminished as well. The chatter came to a lull. He could hear the faint, yet stable breathing of Eponine, and the quiet beating of his heart. And at that moment, Montparnasse felt oddly at peace.

_Perhaps, for once, I get to do something right by you._

He could've sworn that night turned into day way too soon that time. Was it truly the sun returning, its rays breaking through the darkness? He edged himself closer to where her head rested and caressed her cheek.

"I wish for happiness to find you when you finally wake." He whispered longingly. "Be safe, Ponine." And without uttering the word goodbye, he planted a gentle kiss on her lips. He wished that deep in slumber she felt his love, and he wished that maybe he'll find her again someday and maybe, just maybe, he'll get another chance.

Before releasing her hand to lock the door and leave, he could've sworn he felt her grip him. But it could also just be his sleep-deprived mind, playing tricks on his hopeful heart.

He joined the morning crowd in the main street and waited for the cart to emerge from the little alley. His mind was frighteningly blank and his focus non-existent until finally he saw it, the wheels turning passing him and with every second the distance growing between them. Just before the cart disappeared from his sight, he took to a run. All his doubts heavy upon him. If anything else – anything worse – happens to her, he would never forgive himself.

So he ran in hopes of catching up to the fast moving cart. He ran to get her back, even though his mind was screaming for him to let things be. When at last his lungs felt too heavy and his legs sore, his body hunched with his hands on his knees to steady himself, he finally allowed for it to disappear.

"Think of me sometimes, Ponine." He weakly whispered, his eyes still on the spot where he last saw the cart. _Remember me a little._

* * *

Alexandre Xavier Enjolras slouched at the weight of the iron collar around his neck, the shackles on his wrists and ankles making it difficult to keep in line and at the same pace at the others before him. There were a total of 15 men, mostly students like him that he recognized from other organizations, some were working men just couple of years older than he was. Guards escorted them as they got down of the wagons, 2 at the head of the line, 4 in the middle and 3 just a few steps behind him.

He looked up as he walked; the stars had barely begun to shine as the last rays of the sun disappeared. He sent a silent prayer for his fallen brethren, the men whom he led to slaughter, and then a quick one for Patria. None for himself, though he knew quite well that he should have. He was most certain death was upon him, this would be the last time he'll get to see the heavens.

Of course he wished for a public execution, at least it could be one last open stand of rebellion, yet it seemed the King was smart enough to see the implications of the Guillotine. To see someone like Enjolras die willingly, with a satisfied look on his face for the freedom he wished, would most likely spur and inspire people. And to some extent it would be considered a point to the rebellion, so there would be none of that. Instead, they'd be sent to the Galleys where they could passively rot away.

He knew this place the guards were taking them to, might as well be called their graves. The cellar at the Châtelet de Paris* was a place they sent weak men to die, and strong ones to wait for the trip to the purgatory in Toulon. Enjolras was no fool, he was weak, and his wounds still bled occasionally and his body bruised and sore; the barricades and canons didn't kill him, he hoped fervently this one would. Death was better than a life knowing he could do nothing more for the people of France who still lived under tyranny. It would be a life filled with guilt and loathing.

He felt the grime and the mud seeping into his clothes and his skin raw from the chains that suspended his arms and head. The others began to hum a melancholic tone, but he did not join them. He might as well been dead. After all, what else is there to do when all hope is gone?

After several songs died, he could no longer tell how long they have been there. The overwhelming stench and the lack of air was muddling his thoughts, and he wished desperately to be allowed the luxury to pass out as the others around him seem to have done, at least then he could escape his consciousness. _And what? To dream of them? To see them die one by one, all over again? _

He clenched his eyes close, and he willed himself not to listen, not to breathe, not to think. But then light fought its way through his lids, it reached him first as he was last to enter and closest to the door. He felt the slush around them move as if disturbed, and then he felt his arms drop to his sides one by one. He snapped his eyes open to see one of the guards freeing him from his chains. He opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly deterred as a hand came up to stop him, stuffing some cloth into it.

"Play along. Don't fuss!" The guard whispered fiercely.

The guard tied his hands behind his back, before releasing his neck from the chain. And then to his surprise, the man threw his body over his shoulder and began making his way out of the cellar. He could barely make out the words one of the men from further down threw at the guard, to which the man replied, "He's dead."

* * *

Montparnasse appeared at the inn at the usual hour of gathering for Patron Minette, it would be the first time he'd show himself after the fall of the barricades.

"We all thought you were dead!" Babet had muttered when he entered.

"Where've you been? Slacking around with your whores, when there are tons of dead bodies to loot!" Thenardier added.

"I had urgent business." He replied curtly.

Thenardier merely huffed in annoyance, the boy never did learn to let them know of his itinerary, just disappearing and appearing as he pleased. But none of them complained because despite his poor attendance, he still raked in more than double of what any of them could bring in on their own. "Have you seen the brat? That useless daughter of mine?"

"She followed her prince to the barricades." He said nonchalantly, but he could taste the bitterness on his tongue, "She's dead."

* * *

*For further reference, the brick mentions the Chatelet under Saint Denis, Book 7: Argot, Part II: Roots.

**A/N:** Next chapter won't be as heavy and Eponine will finally wake, new characters in the mix, the Enjolras men, and a clean slate. Sounds promising, yes?

Allow me to pick your brains: What do you think of the name I gave Enjolras? Was Montparnasse too soft? What impression did Gerard Enjolras give you? How was the whole chapter, in general? Would really love to hear/read your thoughts. **Reviews, svp.**

Oh, and please check out **_For Her_**, listed under LesMis-Books. Would greatly appreciate it.


	3. Chapter 2: Broken

**A/N: **Finally! It has taken me way too long to finish this chapter, missing more than one of my self-imposed deadlines. Forgive me for this week was a busy one in the kitchen, and I'm often dead tired when I get home. Ok, enough of that… on to the story.

Long chapter and no E/E interactions YET (don't leave!), I just have to get this out of the way. And I really am glad that it's done. There are lots of new names and characters to meet in this one. Hope you all enjoy it.

Read on.

* * *

The little boy ran as fast as his little legs could take him, he caught himself in front of his mother's parlor, catching his breath and composing himself as he was taught to do. He knocked, and entered when her mother told him so.

"Maman! Maman!" He called out pulling at her skirt.

"Easy now, Christophe. What has gotten you in such a state?" She said as she set the book she was reading down.

"Memere calls for you! A girl! You must come see!" He said as he pulled his mother by the hand all the way to the kitchen. The sight that greeted her made her eyes widened, and for a second she just stood in shock. There on the kitchen table laid an unconscious girl with a bandaged head and shoulder. She wore a clean but tattered man's shirt over a worn-out skirt. The bandages looked old, and needed to be replaced. The lady of the house snapped out of her surprise and organized her thoughts. "Christophe, call your father. Hugo, fetch the doctor at once! Memere, please find Suzette, and tell her to gather some clothes for this poor thing."

Once the rest disbanded at her command, she took a clean cloth off a counter and a bassinette of water to the table where she began to wipe the girl's face, and then her neck, and her arms. Feeling her temperature, she gave herself a bit of peace when she didn't detect a fever.

It was indeed such a rare action for a lady of high society such as her to take part in, but she was different from all those snobbish women who only had their dresses and hair to worry about. This was exactly why her Daniel had fallen so deeply in love with her.

On the other part of the house, inside his study, deep in concentration Daniel Bertrand was reading an urgent letter from Paris from his Uncle. He knew anything from him was regarding family and of the utmost importance, but he did not expect any of what the letter was informing him of. It almost sounded as if the writer was in a bout of fantasy, yet he could not shake the nagging feeling that his cousin – of which the letter spoke mostly about – was capable of the things his uncle wrote of.

He was about to finish reading the letter for the third time when a frantic knock broke the silence of the room. He put down the letter and rushed to the door, when he heard his son calling for him in such a panicked way. As the little boy did with his mother, he had began pulling at his father's hand without any explanation, and Daniel Bertrand didn't have a choice but to be dragged to wherever the boy intended him to be.

* * *

The doctor had come and gone, and they have transferred the mademoiselle to one of the guest rooms. The doctor said that the girl had gotten an injury to her head that she could have acquired from falling or from something that hit her there. He also pointed out the bullet wound on her shoulder, and how it damaged the tissues and muscles there, warning them not to let her move it around too much when she wakes.

There was a obvious sigh of relief from the people in the room when he pronounced her stable, and even complemented the treatment she was given, although it was notably a couple of days old. After replacing her bandages, and prescribing some medication to ease the sting, the doctor left and asked for the master to call on him should there be any complications or when she finally wakes up.

With the servants properly dismissed and off to return to their tasks. Daniel and Sabine spoke to each other quietly as the young Christophe took to studying the young woman's face.

"How did she get here?" Daniel asked.

"Mémère Claudine said that Hugo found her inside his cart, just as he was dropping some of the supplies for the main house."

"So she came from Paris?"

Sabine gave a timid nod, "or she could have been placed there when Hugo stops over. He does it twice in a trip, if I am not mistaken. For all we know it could be anywhere from Paris to here."

Daniel looked over to the bed where his son was poking at the mademoiselle's hand, hoping for a twitch or any sort of reaction from her. There was no doubt that the girl will be taken cared of for as long as she wished to be. They didn't even have to discuss it, it was a given, and the house help knew it as well.

A person coming to them for help was a regular occurrence, and one that the family did not ever reject. But this had to be the first time that they would have to wait for the person to regain consciousness before their inquires were to get answers to.

"Now that we know she will be fine, you'll have to excuse me, dearest. Uncle Gerard had sent word. Alexandre will be staying with us indefinitely." He lowered his voice noticeably, and Sabine gave her husband a concerned look. "He has strict demands for the arrangement of Alexandre's stay, and I have to see to it and get it done before night falls."

"Is everything alright?"

"I'm afraid I can not guarantee anything. We shall discuss this later when I get this straightened out." He cupped her cheek with a gentle hand, looking into her eyes, begging for understanding.

She gave him a small smile. "I shall stay here with Christophe, lest the mademoiselle wakes up. Would you mind finding Suzette and tell her to fetch me my book, please."

"Consider it done. I'll send her back with some tea as well, and some of 'Tophe's lessons so he won't annoy our guest too much." And with that, he kissed her gently on the cheek and went on his way.

* * *

The room was slowly beginning to dim as the sun resigned for the day. Christophe was asleep curled up in a ball near the mademoiselle's feet after returning from playing in the gardens when he finished his lessons earlier. Sabine sat on the plush seat still reading her book, when she heard a faint whimper. It was so weak that she thought nothing of it until she heard another, this time more noticeable.

Her head snapped up to the source of the sound and she rushed to set the book down and headed to the bedside. The mademoiselle seemed like she was having a nightmare of sorts. Her face twitching as she mumbled and moaned, sweat beads formed on her temple, and Sabine reached for her hand at an attempt to comfort the girl.

Christophe awoke to the sounds, and sat up groggily at the edge of the bed watching silently as his mother soothed the stranger as she would him on his restless nights. His eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped when the mademoiselle finally revealed caramel colored orbs as her eyes fluttered open.

The girl was finally awake.

* * *

Mémère Claudine, the head housekeeper who has been with Madame Sabine since she was a little girl, was the most trusted employee of the Bertrand Family. Unlike other housekeepers of prominent families, she was treated as a part of the family and called like one as well. She was impressive with her duties and was respected and endeared by the others who worked with her. The Bertrand Family trusted her with everything, so at 8 o'clock that evening when a carriage entered the estate gate, she was the only one besides the Monsieur and Madame who knew of the people it arrived with.

Mémère Claudine had been instructed to make sure none of the other servants find out who Daniel's guests were. She had skillfully directed everyone else so that none of the others would cross paths with the men on their way from the main door to the master's study. No one suspected anything more than a visit from one of their master's colleagues.

After Mémère Claudine excused herself allowing Daniel to enter the room, the eldest of the men spoke. "Are you sure she is to be trusted? One small mistake and I cannot guarantee that the Enjolras name will keep us all away from the guillotine."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't have risked this, father." Daniel eyed his young cousin who stood near the window looking out to the gardens, held up with the aid of a cane, still as a statue.

"Do not be ungrateful." Gerard Enjolras said sternly. As he expected, his son did not quite appreciate using their connections and power to escape his fate. He knew Alexandre would have willingly died for the foolish cause, but he was not about to let his only child throw away his life after surviving the barricades. He didn't want him to rot in the gallows, or to die in Chatelet. He wanted him to start anew, but this was the best he could afford him now.

Recalling the contents of the letter, Daniel made a mental checklist of the things that his uncle stressed upon.

_Alexandre is believed to be dead. Anyone who bares witness to his living state might be taken into interrogation, and will most probably be arrested as an accessory, IF he is discovered._

_It is of the utmost importance that no one else but you, Sabine and a trusted servant who will assist him from time to time will know of his stay at your estate._

_He must not be allowed to wander around, and will be kept in his own quarters at all times far from the eyes of others._

Daniel breathed in deeply as if to steel himself for the conversation. His uncle was not one to beat around the bush. "Everything has been arranged as requested, Uncle." He said to the man, and then to the other, "I am glad that you are safe, Alex." The young man by the window did not even care to turn.

"Good. Now where are Christophe and his mother? I would very much like to see the little boy before I have to part."

"Christophe is probably in the main parlor, practicing his piano. Sabine is presently occupied with another serious matter, Uncle. I believe you'll have to excuse her." Daniel replied.

"I will not be staying for long, I shall rush back home to bring your aunt the news, so her heart could get some rest and she could ease herself of some worry. Send Sabine my regards." Gerard Enjolras said the last part as he longingly glanced at his son, waiting for a reaction from him. He got none.

They've exchanged their thoughts and opinions on the matter at hand during the long ride from Paris. And although he was greatly disappointed and exasperated at the actions his son took that lead them to this situation, he could not shake the relief he felt when he was safely within his watch. He brushed of his son's disapproval of his plans, and the cold shoulder that came with it. _Better you cry for not getting what you want, than your mother crying for losing you. _His heart felt heavy still, but he refused to show any of it.

"Very well. Would you like me to accompany you?" Daniel said, interrupting his thoughts.

"Why, do you think me a forgetful old gent already? I still know my way around." His tone was amiable trying to ease things out. They shared that elusive Enjolras smile that was capable of charming the skirt off any woman on earth and catch the envy of men around. Gerard Enjolras, for all he was worth, was a charming fellow with a very clever mind.

Daniel understood that this man only wanted his son safe. He knew he would do the same if it were Christophe in Alexandre's place. His son can begrudge him all he wants, but he will not stand idly and watch him suffer if he can help it.

Gerard was about to reach the door when Alexandre spoke, "Tell mother I am sorry to have her worry about me."

His father replied shortly before stepping out the room. "She'll always worry about you." _As will I._

Daniel waited a few moments to compose his thoughts before addressing his cousin. They were inseparable as children, and they've always appreciated each other's company. However their correspondence and meetings grew lesser as the years flew by and especially when Daniel started his life with Sabine and Enjolras was off to Paris for his studies. Daniel recalled with surprise that the last time they've been in each other's presence was on Christophe's third birthday, and that was a good two years ago.

"What the hell were you thinking Alex?" So much for organizing his thoughts. They always spoke like this, he was the older brother trying to lead the younger man to a less radical life. Alexandre always had grand ideas as a child, Daniel knew he was bound to make an impression in the world. And now that he did, well, he wished he could've had more influence on the boy then maybe they wouldn't be meeting under these circumstances.

"I was thinking about Patria. I was thinking about her children starving on the streets, of her daughters selling their flesh and of her sons slaving the days away but still not being able to feed their families at day's end. I was thinking about the king who sat in his throne, oblivious to Patria's plight." Enjolras turned as he spoke coming eye to eye with Daniel.

The latter noted the sincerity of his words, but was worried when he couldn't find the intensity in his eyes that used to come with his speeches.

"And where did helping Patria get you?" He said before thinking it through. He regretted it deeply for Enjolras just stood there looking broken and defeated. Enjolras was never one to back out of a fight, or an argument. The extent of the damage might have been deeper than what Daniel could understand at the given time.

He was sure he could see the marble man crack.

* * *

Sabine was deep in thought when Daniel finally entered their chambers, but she finally looked up from the book she was studying when her husband sat on the armrest of her seat and placed a kiss on her hair. "Are we having another child?" Daniel asked, surprise lacing his words, when he realized that it was a book of names that Sabine was studying.

Sabine laughed, "Oh no, sorry to disappoint. It's just that, well I wanted to find a good name for the mademoiselle. It would not do well for us to address her as just 'mademoiselle'. I want her to feel at home, I have no doubt it will help her recover faster."

"Oh. Right." Daniel somehow disappointed, offered a small smile and reached for her hand. "How is she doing?"

"Poor dear, she's still a bit confused about the whole thing. I guess I would be too if I woke up in a place I've never seen before with people I don't recognize."

"So she still has no recollection of anything at all?"

"No. The doctor said it is most probably because of the injury on her head. Everything seems to be fine with her with the exception of her shoulder and her memory though." Sabine flipped the page. "But she's calmed down enough, and is now resting. Christophe seems to have charmed her already, and I think Memere Claudine and I have succeeded in making her more comfortable."

"At least we have that to be grateful for." He sighed, running his free hand through his brown curls. "We have two people to ease into recovery now."

Sabine looked up to meet Daniel's eyes; concern was obvious in her eyes. "How is Alex?"

"Broken."

* * *

**A/N:** Phew. So what do you think? Allow me to pic your brains again. (A big shout out to SleepingwithinWater who kindly answered my questions from last chapter. Highly appreciate it.) I actually just have one question, what name would suit our brave, gentle, yet naïve Eponine? I've been wracking my head and google for a possible name, but nothing's caught my fancy yet.

No, sorry, wait. I have two! What do you think of the new characters?

I'd like to point out that I will refer to Enjolras as Alexandre where the Bertrands are involved. Daniel is part Enjolras, so I think it would be normal for them to be more familiar and personal with our favorite revolutionary. I hope you don't mind, but if it's too confusing for you, let me know, and I'll see how I can ease you to it. I think the same rules will be applied to Eponine and her temporary name too. But note that I will be using their original names when they finally interact.

Big thanks to the followers of this story and to those who left reviews, I've got nothing but lesmis-love for you. Lets see how things unfold as they finally cross paths again in the next chapter.

Don't forget to leave a review. :)


	4. Chapter 3: Strokes

**A/N:** Hello again. First off, a quick run-through of the OCs introduced from last chapter, just so everyone's on the same page as there were some concerns about it mentioned in the reviews.

Daniel Enjolras Bertrand – Cousin of Alexandre Enjolras; master of the house

Sabine Armand Bertrand – Wife to Daniel

Christophe Armand Bertrand – Son of Daniel and Sabine

Memere Claudine – Head housekeeper/nanny

Also, I will begin to call Eponine by the name chosen by Sabine in this chapter. So please don't be confused when I interchange **Eponine and Antionette/Toinette. THEY ARE THE SAME PERSON**. Hope you appreciate the dynamics of the usage of the names, major points to those who'll figure it out.

I want to also thank you guys for the response I got last chapter, from reviews, to follows, to faves. Highly appreciate the love, and as you can see, I greatly take into consideration the comments you've sent my way.

So with that covered my dear Amis, read on!

* * *

Christophe explored the store-lined square with his mother's hand in his. Memere Claudine and the girl- Eponine - who was well enough to come out with them, were following a few paces behind.

They were on their way to the seamstress for some clothes for the girl they've taken into calling Antoinette. Though Antoinette was the name Sabine picked for her, most of them have started following Christophe's lead and fondly and simply referred to her as Toinette.

The girl felt alive for the first time since she woke up five days ago. Feeling the sun on her skin and being out the Bertrand Estate, surrounded by people milling about, she felt a familiar ease and joy at being able to walk around. Although she treasured the plush and comfortable surroundings at the Bertrand residence, there was always a clawing feeling of need to let her feet take the lead and simply wander around; sometimes she felt the walls were too much.

She spent her first two days in bed under the doctor's strict order and Memere Claudine's strict watch. She spent those two days drifting in and out of sleep, and when she was awake, she'd usually find Sabine and Christophe in her room, even Daniel occasionally. Then they'd inquire about things she did not have answers to, but instead of growing frustrated, they'd offer her a reassuring smile that eased the pressure of remembering.

Sometimes though, she would do the inquiring. She learned that both Daniel and Sabine came from notable families; Daniel has come from a long line of prominent lawyers while his wife has inherited the family business of producing champagne. She discovered that Christophe was 5 and was a very energetic and curious little boy who enjoyed playing in the gardens and getting into mischief as much as he loved reading his books and playing the piano.

She also found out that Christophe was simply irresistible. You cannot simply turn him down. Much to her fortune, it was this talent of the young boy that got her out of her room for the first time since she woke up. On the third afternoon after lunch has been sent and eaten in her room and Memere Claudine had come to retrieve it, Sabine and Christophe had arrived to keep her company. The boy expertly convinced the hesitant housekeeper and his apprehensive mother that it was for Toinette's best interest that she be allowed some fresh air and to stretch her legs in the garden with him. His mother looked on to him amused at how he seemed to have picked up Daniel's manner of speaking when he wanted to sell an idea; he was indeed a clever boy.

Christophe had grown increasingly fond of Toinette over the days, and would often keep her company after his lessons in the morning and had convinced his piano teacher to let her sit in as he practiced at night. He would read to her in the afternoons, and they would play and walk around the gardens with Sabine before dinner.

On her first excursion to town, it was no doubt that Christophe was excited for her, getting his mother to promise them a trip to the patisserie after their errands. He excitedly pointed out the different shops in the square to Toinette who followed them wide-eyed with wonder and delight. She quietly wondered if in her past, she had the luxury to afford the beautiful things displayed through the shop windows.

They passed a quaint bookshop, two cafes, a boulangerie, and the bank; Toinette regarded them all with mild interest but stopped in front of a small shop with paintings and sketches visible from the window. She didn't even realize that the rest of her party had gone along on their way as she entered the shop.

The bell chimed and a man in his fifties with graying hair and eyes with a gentle shade of green looked up from his canvas and gave Toinette a curious look before offering her a small smile. "Bonjour mademoiselle, is there anything I can help you with, perhaps a new brush? A set of paint?" He watched the girl who seemed to have not heard a single word he said. She was running her fingers on some of the blank canvases as her eyes wandered about. "A pencil perhaps?"

Amongst all the art materials, Eponine felt a sudden familiarity. She felt comfortable amongst them; she hardly realized that a man was speaking to her. When she turned to him, she saw the canvas he was working on and quickly complemented him on his work, as well as asking for an apology. "I mean no offense monsieur, it's just that all these things seems to catch my fancy quite a lot; enough to get me distracted." She offered a shy smile of her own.

"Do you paint, mademoiselle, or sketch?"

Eponine looked puzzled. She didn't quite recall whether or not she was any good with art. "I… I'm not sure, monsieur."

The kind man regarded her with much interest. He went with his instinct when he said, "Perhaps you should give it a try then?" He pointed out an easel that stood near his own. "It's my son's, but he's out on errands now. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"Oh but…" Eponine did not get to finish her thought because as she was about to decline the offer, the door opened and a familiar voice broke the serenity in the shop.

"MADEMOISELLE! Dear God above, do you not know better than to stray? You had us worried!" It was Memere Claudine.

"Antoinette! Oh thank God! Please promise me you won't do that again!" Sabine rushed in shortly after, and Christophe left his mother's side and flung himself on the girl who caught him in an embrace. He held her tightly. The girl felt apologetic, though she could hardly understand why they were so frazzled.

"I do hope she didn't cause any bother, Jerome." Sabine said to the shopkeeper, who happened to be an artist they've commissioned for several works.

"Do not worry about it Madame Bertrand. She was simply curious. Odd though, she tells me she's not sure if she paints or sketches."

"She's lost her memory. I'm afraid she's not sure of a lot of things these days." Sabine said in a subtler tone, not wishing to upset Eponine with the fact. The man just nodded in understanding. "Well, it's best we get going, I'm afraid we've claimed too much of your time already. Good day, Jerome!"

They were all almost out the door when Jerome called out, "Mademoiselle! Here take these. Perhaps you will find it useful." He handed Eponine a bag with a canvas, a few paints and brushes, a thin sketchbook and a pencil. "I've always believed that art draws out the soul. I hope it helps you with your memory."

Eponine took the bag in her hands; her eyes grew wide in appreciation as her lips formed a bright smile. She thanked the thoughtful gentleman profoundly.

* * *

Enjolras has strangely taken the habit of spending his days inside his private chamber without a shirt, the bandages around his chest has taken the place of clothing. In the mornings after eating his breakfast delivered by Madame Claudine, he would go and wash up. After which he would no longer bother with a shirt until midday when the maid would come back up again to set his meal.

He barely spoke nowadays since Daniel was busy with business and Sabine was tending to a guest, making their visits less frequent than he knew they were happy with. And all though he originally resolved to only address Madame Claudine when needed and when appropriate, the maid was persistent and her motherly regard was hard to brush off.

He spent his days jumping from one book to the other. He found that rereading the works of Rousseau and Robespierre reminded him too much of his failed rebellion. Then he would opt for a book like the Iliad or the Odyssey in an attempt to escape reality, but he turned them down not too soon later because it would remind him of the references Grantaire used. He tried to keep on track with his studies with the law books Daniel used as references, but even with them, he thought of his friends: Courfeyrac and Marius. He did not even dare a tome on philosophy or poetry.

Being left on his own, with nothing to occupy himself with was eating him alive. In his frustration he began pulling on the books from the small shelf and sent them flying behind him. His grief and his frustration evident with every thud that resonated through his lonely chamber as the tomes hit the ground or a nearby furniture; he didn't even stop when he heard something – a vase perhaps – made of glass greet the floor.

He gripped the shelf after tossing the last book over his shoulder, his forehead resting on the emptied sill, breathing heavily. He stood like that unconcerned about the time passing, his mind eerily silent. Just as his heart began to ease its beating, the lock turned and the door was pushed open.

"I see you've already had a party in here." Daniel said sarcastically, Enjolras heard 3 items landing on the table not too far off. "Memere Claudine will have your head for this mess." The younger man couldn't help but frown in agreement as he looked up to see his cousin's face. He noted the bottle of wine and two glasses that Daniel had brought with him.

Daniel proceeded to open the bottle and poured a glass for himself and Enjolras. "Good thing you have till morning to clean it all up. If you promise to behave, I might help you." He walked over to where Enjolras was sitting on the ground, his back on the stripped shelves, looking over to the chaos he caused. "Better come up with an apology for the vase too. Sabine is quite fond of her glassware. Have to say, you're on your own with that one, mate."

The older man sat down on the ground beside Enjolras and raised his glass to him. Enjolras obliged. They sat for a while in silence, drinking their fill. Half way through the bottle Daniel stood up and left the room only to return in a few minutes with two more bottles in hand.

When he returned to his seat beside Enjolras, he found that his cousin had abandoned his glass, and was twirling the now-empty bottle with his fingers running circles on the ground.

"I could never understand how Grantaire could drink bottle after bottle of alcohol. He said it eases the mind of its worries. He's wrong, it does nothing for me."

Daniel threw a lazy arm around Enjolras' shoulder after opening another bottle of wine and pouring a glass for himself and handling the bottle to Enjolras. If it would not ease his cousin's mind, he at least hoped that it would be enough to put Enjolras through a whole night of sleep for once.

* * *

Eponine woke up with a start. The clock on the wall read 2:48. She had been dreaming and she moved as if in a trance that one could mistake her being a sleepwalker.

The images in her dream latched themselves to her consciousness, but they made no sense to her. What did she see?

_Dolls._

She threw the door of the study open, and walked straight to where her canvas was resting on an easel Daniel had provided her. The other materials were laid carefully on a tall round table. Eponine carefully reached for a brush, feeling its weight in both her hands, delicately testing her weapon.

_A peculiar sign hanging over a huge door._

She studied the colors, and slowly began to mix and create hues. Blue: innocent yet afraid. A faint yellow, akin to gold, but corrupted with a light gray. Dirty white. Dismal pink: shattered youth. Red and purple: bruises. Wooden brown. Ochre. Black.

_A coin in a shoe._

Eponine moved like a ghost in front of the canvas: silent, feather-light, entranced. Her eyes looked empty as if her soul has escaped its earthly bond. It so seemed in her case that only the hand knew what the heart truly desired to illustrate.

Besides the slight crease on her forehead that spoke of her concentration, her face was devoid of any emotion.

_A blue bonnet._

A curve of her wrist made the bow of a lip. The slight tap of her brush made a dim light dance in the eyes. The unmeasured strokes translated to unruly hair. The slight smudge of her thumb on the wet paint soothed the damages. The sudden fall of her hands made for intricate creases of cloth.

Eponine seemed to have regained full consciousness as she dropped the brush on the palette. She took a step back and for the first time saw her creation in full. What she saw pleased her and disturbed her at the same time. It pleased her to know that she had a skill for the arts. But it disturbed her because it aroused the feeling that what she had clearly put on canvas was something she should have remembered clearly. The suffering it so implied required remembrance.

She understood the implications, and it chilled her. When she finally found it disheartening enough to move away from the image, she set off wandering the halls, finding it pointless to head back to her own room as her mind, despite at ease, was wide awake.

Her footfall was mute, as she concentrated on simply breathing, comfortable in the darkness. So when he called out in his sleep Eponine could hear his voice echo through the long empty corridor. Curiosity tugged on her to find the source. When she finally stood in front of the door at the far end of the opposite wing, she deliberated on knocking.

She pressed her ear to the door, and she could make out a few choice words as the mumbling's volume was erratic. "_My friends." _Eponine's brows furrowed.

_"Dead" _She held her breath.

Then a hollow cry of agony resonated, it worried her. She held up her fist, prepared to knock. But she stopped just a second short before her hand made contact with the wooden door. The tired voice resigned, and managed to say, "_I'm sorry."_

She waited for more, but silence greeted her.

Back in her bed, as she waited for sleep to claim her again, she saw the image of the eyes from her painting. The words 'I'm sorry' in that mysterious voice, lethargically running through her head.

* * *

Suzette, a maid in the Bertrand Estate, was always one to start the day early with her chores. First thing she had to do was prepare the young master's clothes for the day, and then head to the main study to prepare the room for his lessons.

She was on her way there, as per usual, when she noticed the door already open. _Strange. _She entered the room cautiously, minding her movements for perhaps one of her employers were up early and occupying the room. What she did not expect was to see a finished painting on the canvas that she could have swore was empty when the room was last used to her knowing.

She stood staring at the young girl in the portrait, allowing the girl's misery and her tarnished youth to speak to her. The large broom in her hands seemed to express the weight of her plight. The wide eyes were penetrating, as if begging for help as the last strands of hope slowly dissipated. The young maid felt her heart clench.

The painting was devastatingly and heartbreakingly beautiful.

* * *

**A/N:** There! I think I can honestly say I am happy about this chapter, I just hope you guys are happy about it too. Let me know what you think, yes?

**Review, please and thank you. **

_I hear the people sing! Do you?_


	5. Chapter 4: Loose Ends

**A/N:** Hello there! FINALLY, an update! Yes, I know it's been ages and I deeply apologize for the delay. Work demanded my time. So before you read on, I suggest you take a look back at the previous chapter (if you haven't yet) just so we're progressing on the same line here.

I also want to thank the awesome people who reviewed and followed the story, even though I've been out for so long. I cannot express enough how much you've helped me get back to writing. I dearly hope you're all still there.

Okay so I won't keep you any longer, read on.

* * *

On her way down to the dining area for breakfast, Eponine passed the study, she stopped at the doorway with the intention to look at the painting again. The sight that greeted her was one that she did not expect. Huddling around the easel where she left the canvas was Daniel and Sabine quietly gazing at her finished piece. She cleared her throat to inform them that she was in the room, then muttered a timid 'good morning' when they turned, startled, to see her there.

"Good morning, Mademoiselle Antoinette." Daniel said with a small polite bow.

"Antoinette, were you the one who made this?" Sabine asked, perplexed and curious about the sudden emergence of the painting.

"It was I." Antoinette confessed. "I hope it does not upset you that I did it in the middle of the night, I woke up from a dream and this image lingered in my mind."

"It's of no trouble, but might I ask why you resorted to painting?" Daniel asked, making his own curiosity apparent.

"I…" Eponine paused hesitantly, come to think of it now she hadn't given it much thought. "I just felt like it…" and then she added slowly, as if the words were only beginning to make sense to her as she spoke, "it felt like something I used to do."

* * *

The doctor arrived promptly after breakfast just as Christophe's lessons started, so the painting was moved to the receiving room. Amongst those present in the room with the doctor were Eponine, Sabine and Suzette, the latter to assist the doctor if so required.

Monsieur Brun, a childhood friend of Daniel, has been tending to the Bertrands ever since he has gotten his license. He was simple man from another rich family, quiet and gentle, yet always with some sort of enlightenment to offer. He has been frequenting the estate recently not only for Eponine, but for Enjolras as well, with the utmost discretion.

"Your shoulder seems to be healing well and the scar on your forehead is surely disappearing by the day. Have you been feeling any other physical pains?" He asked after checking her wounds.

"No monsieur, well aside from the faint soreness of my shoulder, I've been feeling very well."

"Good. How's your head? I mean, have you remembered anything recently?"

Eponine glanced at Madame Sabine, who nodded in encouragement. "I dreamt of some things last night. They felt familiar, but I cannot seem to make sense of them. I've forgotten most of the images, but others were stronger than most. I've painted the one that felt the most important." She said as she gestured to the canvas.

The good doctor studied the painting, and like everyone else who has seen the piece, he thought it extraordinary. The sheer talent and emotion of which it spoke of almost distracted him from his work at hand. He turned his attention back to Eponine. "Have you any inkling of who the little girl is, mademoiselle?"

Eponine just shook her head solemnly. "But I have a feeling that I should remember who she is. That she's important."

He scratched his chin, visibly considering what she said, "How do you feel about the painting? About her?"

"Guilty." Eponine surprised herself with what she just said "…and sad."

"I see. Perhaps mademoiselle, art is healthy for you. If you encounter an image in your head paint or sketch it, perhaps it will help you recall your memories. If not then maybe we could at least make sense of it, and figure out your past." Eponine just nodded absently, her mind still focused on one word: guilty. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I would like to talk to Madame Sabine in private." He dismissed Antoinette and the maid, saying his goodbye to the mademoiselle with a smile after she had thanked him for his time.

Antoinette was absently walking back to her room when she remembered the encounter with the mysterious voice from last night. How it rang with the same emotion she found herself with at the thought of the little girl in the painting. Guilt.

Antoinette turned on her heels, and headed for the opposite wing.

* * *

Enjolras sat on the edge of his bed, for the first time in a long time he had overslept. With his head in his hands, he silently willed his headache to go away. _Bloody idiot, I am. How many times have I told Grantaire that alcohol is never a good idea?_

He stood up carefully to move towards the table where the breakfast Madame Claudine has left for him a few hours ago sat unappreciated. He took a careful sip of his now cold coffee, just before attacking the plate of food with his newfound appetite. Just about half way through the meal, a peculiar knock came to his door.

He looked up apprehensively. If it were Daniel, then he would've just entered without knocking, just as he's always done when it comes to Enjolras. If it were Sabine or Madame Claudine, they would both knock timidly just to let him know that they were coming in, and the lock would turn. But now the lock did not turn, and the knocking continued.

He had no idea who to expect, but the incessant knocking was making the pounding in his head much worse. He stood up and without putting much thought into what he was about to do he slammed his palm on the door that immediately stopped the bothersome banging.

Eponine stood at the opposite side of the door, taken aback. Her wistful thoughts from earlier retreated and a very conscious and fierce side of her over took. "You don't need to be rude. If you don't want to open the door, you could have just told me to leave." She huffed.

Enjolras, although surprised at the audacity of the stranger's tone, was embarrassed by his own behavior. Even though he strayed from his wealthy upbringing, never has it been said the he was short of being a gentleman. Without thinking much of the implications of his response, he apologized rather sheepishly. "But you shouldn't be here." He remembered when he realized his blunder, and stepped away from the door.

"Why shouldn't I be? I am just concerned. Excuse me for wanting to know if there's anything bothering you." Eponine huffed. "Couldn't even open the door to say it straight to my face." She mumbled.

Curiosity betrayed him, "bothering me? What would make you think there's something bothering me?"

"I heard you. Last night. I mean, I wasn't prying or anything but I was awake and I heard your voice. You sounded so distressed, I had to come, but it seemed to me you were merely talking in your sleep." Eponine paused for a moment to contemplate, "Why won't you open the door?"

Eponine stood there waiting for a reply, just as she thought he left to ignore her, he spoke. "There are a lot of things bothering me, mademoiselle, but it is not any of your business – and I don't mean to be offensive in anyway. I do appreciate your concern, but I also do not feel right to burden you with any of it."

"I have no burdens monsieur – or at least I don't remember any of them – perhaps I can carry some of yours." Eponine said sadly and then realized, _not remembering is a burden._

"You don't remember?" Came Enjolras' interested response. He cursed his curiosity; he really shouldn't be speaking to her.

"It seems I've lost my memories."

"I envy you. To live in blissful ignorance sounds appealing to me." He thought about not remembering everything he had just lost, not of the people who fell because of his ignorant leadership, not the faces and final calls of his friends as they succumbed to death. Forgetting about why he was there at that very moment locked in that room. None of it.

"Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I should be happy that I don't remember things. But I could not help but think if my life is any better now than it was before? Would I have preferred this, or did I lose something so beautiful and not even know it?"

He pondered the words the mysterious girl just uttered; he admitted she had a point. He thought about the classes that he enjoyed, and the early planning sessions with the Amis. He thought about all the times his friends have teased him and made fun of one another, and though at that time he would never admit to actually finding amusement in it he has always treasured those few moments of distraction. He was pulled back to the conversation when the girl spoke again, "Are you there, still? Why wont you open the door?"

A bittersweet smile appeared on Enjolras' face at the memories and the girl's persistence. As much as he did not comprehend why he willingly chose to stay with his ear practically plastered on the door, he did not understand why the girl's voice seemed familiar to him or why he continued to take part in the conversation. Perhaps because, despite being aware that no one should know about his presence in the house aside from the three, he saw no trouble of letting someone with no recollection who can't identify him even if she did have the chance to see his face or know his real name – which would not happen anyway. Or perhaps it was because he was distinctly out of character this morning with the hangover and the small stream of alcohol still flowing in him. Whatever the reason was, he remained on the spot.

"I can't open the door, mademoiselle, forgive me. You are not even supposed to know I am here. I do not wish to be rude, but I simply must abide to the rules of the house." He wondered again why he was still talking to her. "You must not tell anyone of what you've found here. Do you understand?"

"Are you some sort of prisoner? Are you not allowed to come out at all?" She asked, a little bit worried for the monsieur.

"No, not at all. I am not a prisoner though, but it is for the best that I do not reveal myself." _Not a prisoner - technically, but I might as well be one._

"It sounds cruel to me, you with all your burdens without anyone there to help you with them." And then an idea crossed her mind. She grinned to herself. "How about, I be your friend? You can trust that your secret is safe with me."

Enjolras' brows furrowed. This girl might have not only lost her memories but her logic as well. Why would anyone want to be friends with someone who you can never see face to face, whose conversations must be shared through a locked door under heavy secrecy. Before he could voice out his thoughts, Madame Claudine's voice called out for a girl called Antoinette.

"Oh! I have to go. I will be back, don't you worry." And then he heard footsteps moving away. She was gone.

_What a peculiar girl. _He shrugged and dropped back to his bed where he planned to spend the rest of the morning in hopes of getting rid of the blasted headache.

* * *

**.Paris.**

The young man stumbled into his cell once again, bidding the flickering lights of the candles goodbye as he stepped into the dark damp room, the door closing behind him. He slumped into his own cot, and noticed his cellmate asleep on the other one across his. It had been another long day of interrogations, and he was drained.

_"THE NAMES! I want them complete! And we know you sent men home before the final attack. NAMES!" The young officer slammed his hands on the table and the young revolutionary looked up to him with sunken solemn eyes. He was not going to say anything. _

_A piece of paper was left ignored after the prisoner had gone through it once, twice, five times. It was a list of the people found and accosted at the barricade where he too was taken from. It was not a very long list, but it was a difficult one to go through with nonetheless._

_Enjolras, Alexandre – Taken into custody. _

_Combeferre, Philippe – Deceased_

_Bahorel, Jaques – Deceased_

_Dupont, Marc – Taken into custody._

_Feuilly, Emmanuel – Deceased_

_Grantaire, Louis – Deceased_

_Courfeyrac, François – Deceased_

_Blanc, Noel - Deceased_

_Bossuet, Emile – Deceased_

_Prouvaire, Jean – Taken into custody._

_Thenardier, Gavroche – Deceased_

_The list stretched. Nine men were left unidentified most of whom he assumed to be workingmen because a representative of the Sorbonne claimed to have accounted for all students present. The other 10 men were named and most were dead as well, spare 2 men who were somewhere in the same prison. No woman's name was listed on it._

_He knew the officer was asking about the unidentified nine, but what weighed heavily in his mind was that the list was missing names he was thankful he didn't find there. Eponine, Marius, Joly…_

_There was no way in hell he'd call them out on their mistake. _

_The officer brought a blow to his left cheek. "Answer me when I ask you a question!" he blinked; he must have been deep in thought to not hear the inquiry. The stinging in his cheek prevented him from drifting back to his thoughts. He looked at the other man as if to dare him to hit him again. The officer's fist was poised for another blow when another man entered the room._

_"Enough. Get out!" It was Javert._

_After the young officer scurried away, Javert went around to the table and reached for the list. He looked up from the paper and stared at the young man straight in the eye._

_He stared back defiantly, unafraid. What else did he have to lose? Javert looked like he knew about his secrets. No one blinked; not the heartless inspector, not the broken lover._

Staring up the ceiling of his dark cell, Jehan contemplated on his friends – the ones who did not make it to the list. Were they safe and alive somewhere? Or did they simply get out of the barricade before the National Guard rounded up the men and died during their escape? _Eponine was wounded; she could not have gotten too far. Marius, I hope he at least caught up with his beloved. Joly, mon ami, are you safe with Chetta?_

_Enjolras. _Just a day ago, he heard some of the guards talking while on their rounds about the first batch of men taken to Chatelet. He found out that Enjolras was amongst them, and that he perished there. _My chief is dead._

Jehan knew he had to be strong. His gentle and enlightened nature forced to take the back seat, as this new found indifferent and cold man emerged from his being. His usually warm and friendly eyes were now distant, as if the soul has left the man. If any one of his acquaintances could see him now they would not recognize him. Then again, most of them were dead, so it bothered him not.

He allowed a tear to fall for them, and sent a silent prayer to whoever was there to receive it.

His heart ached.

* * *

Inspector Javert eyed the two lists on his table; one was of the men brought to Chatelet days before with a report of their current state, and the other one was the list he had acquired from the interrogation earlier. One name was on both lists: Enjolras, Alexandre. The only difference was where it had said 'Taken into custody' on the latter; it had said 'Deceased' on the other.

He knew it was normal for men to die in Chatelet, in fact it was expected. But he found it peculiar that Enjolras – who he knew was the leader of the barricade at the Corinth – was sent there when the other leaders who have survived were still kept at a maximum security, under the scrutiny of the National Guard.

He also recalled the fact that just shortly after the arrest, the Enjolras patriarch had come to request an audience with his son. If the visit was any sign, it was to say that the man did not forsake his son, unlike the others who had their names disgraced. He wondered why a man with such influence had not made any other efforts into saving – or at least seeing – his son, or protested his being sent to Chatelet earlier.

The lines on Javert's face shown prominently as he eyed the lists again, something was terribly wrong. The piece didn't fit the puzzle.

_Could it be? Did the revolutionary somehow escape? Where is the body? Is there even a body?_

He contemplated his next course of action. He would investigate, but knowing the family background of the suspect, he would need to be discreet with the process. The police force was under a lot of scrutiny already, given that they were not able to prevent the uprising. To the government, everything else done after or during the rebellion was a nothing but a desperate move to save face. To be noisy and wrong about Enjolras would bring more shame to him and his men, he could not risk others discovering this investigation unless he is absolutely sure of it.

Javert sighed heavily and massaged his temples as he shut his eyes. He was exhausted and youth has long kissed him goodbye. _I'm getting too old for this._ Once or twice he had thought about quitting his job but none of those times ever got close to actually happening. _Except for that time in… Wait!_

His eyes opened wide, frantically running through the names again.

_Escape_.

_Fake death._

_Valjean!_

That name too was not on the list.

* * *

**A/N:** There you go. A few revelations here yeah, I hope you don't think it complicates the story too much. It won't, I promise, or at least not soon.

Do let me know what you guys think about this one. If you need anything cleared up or explained, or have any ideas you'd like to suggest, please feel free to send me a message or leave a review. In fact, I'd love to hear from you guys, even to just know that you're still there. **Review, pretty please.**


	6. Chapter 5: Inquiries

A/N: Hello! So yes, after another long period of not updating, here's the new chapter. But before we move forward, let's set a few details straight from the previous chapters: (1) Eponine and Enjolras have 'met' or at the very least know of one another's presence at the Bertrand Estate. (2) Our lovely Jehan is alive and in jail and (3) Javert has his suspicions about Enjolras' sudden and unlikely transfer and death at Chatelet and the lack of accounts regarding Valjean in the barricade reports.

As you read it, be mindful of the things you wish to be clarified or focused on, and let me know afterwards. With that said, read on!

* * *

Marius knocked on the door of Monsieur Gillenormand's study with his good arm. It has been a week since he regained his consciousness and ever since, the days seem to have been only getting better and better. His recovery was swiftly progressing; he has been reconciled with his grandfather and reunited with his beloved Cosette.

Everything seemed to have been moving on well, and it had until he and Cosette went out earlier for a walk. Cosette has been his pillar after the rebellion. Her smiles were sweet enough to chase the bitterness away, and her warmth to replace the chill of loss in his heart. But even Cosette's love could not shield him from the nightmares that grabbed him in his sleep. In them he saw his friends dying around him one by one, over and over again.

As they were on their stroll, they mindlessly wandered over to the ruins of the barricade. If anyone thought the Corinth couldn't look any worse than it had before then they have been proven devastatingly wrong. The old crooked café was torn apart. Cosette stopped in her tracks when she felt Marius stop, his arm in which her hand rested was shaking and even through his clothes she felt his chill. When the mademoiselle looked up to meet his eyes in question, he found them desperately pained and miserable. When she looked to where his glance landed, she saw the tattered building and the barely hidden stains that the battle had left as reminder.

Marius, without tearing his eyes off the scene, cleared his throat and attempted to speak. Cosette needed not any words, she understood. After a reassuring squeeze, Cosette unhooked her hand and stepped backwards. She watched as Marius squared his shoulders and took careful steps. She didn't know how long she watched him go, but she understood how painful it was to watch someone you love so broken. Her heart went out to him.

His visit to the Corinth was not the reason why he needed to speak with his grandfather, although it did stem from it. When he finally emerged out of the café, he found Cosette exactly where he left her. She had her head bent, reading an article eagerly; her brows were furrowed in concentration and disbelief. When he reclaimed her attention, she wordlessly handed him the paper. He understood her intentions as he skimmed through the words, and more importantly he understood what should be done.

* * *

It was midafternoon when Enjolras heard the peculiar knocking again. He was trying to read a romantic novel, which was also the only book in the room that he has yet to finish skimming through. Without much regard to the story, he set the book down and uncertainly welcomed the distraction.

Before he could make it by the door the girl started speaking.

"Hello there?" Eponine paused to listen for any signs of the young man's presence. When she didn't hear anything, she pressed on, continuing her knocking. "I saw the most wonderful things in town today. Did you know there's a feast of some sorts that everyone is preparing for?" Yes, he's heard of it from Daniel. "I'm actually helping out Memere Claudine in the kitchen. Well, I _was_. But she had to shoo me out cause Christophe and I were eating too much." She laughed a little.

Eponine studied the door and saw the light from under the door shifting a little, betraying movement from the other side. She smiled to herself; he was listening. "I know you're there." She barely whispered.

Enjolras on the other side have heard it, but decided not to move away. "There's going to be a huge dinner and I've heard a lot of people will be attending. Will you perhaps be able to make an appearance?"

Enjolras didn't speak. He reasoned that perhaps if he didn't respond to her, somehow she'd just leave him be. "Hello?" He could hear her click her tongue in frustration and then a sigh. This girl, he decided, was not the most patient person on earth. "I guess I better go prepare myself now. I'll come back another time." He could hear her beginning to walk away, her footsteps falling gently on the ground, but it stopped too soon. "If by any chance you make it, come find me. I'll be in a blue dress."

When he heard the last of her footfall fade, he stood up and returned to the book he has left behind. For the remainder of afternoon he desperately tried to enjoy or at the very least keep up with the story, but he found his thoughts escaping him, playing with the idea of a Mademoiselle in a blue dress.

He shut the book closed and blamed it and his isolation for his ridiculous thoughts. Enjolras covered his face with both his hands, and tried not to think of what all of his friends would have thought of the images flashing in his head. _Jehan would surely be ecstatic about this._

* * *

Azelma Thernadier hurried home after a night of work. The person she needed to speak with was supposedly dropping by the nasty apartment they called home.

She had just made it through the entrance of the dilapidated tenement when she heard him bid her father farewell. Azelma decided to wait for him by the closed door near the stairs. The location did not only provide privacy at this hour but also a safe distance away from her father's ever-curious ears.

She steeled herself as she heard the creaking of the stairs, each one after the other increasing in volume. When he appeared on the top of the first landing, she met his gaze. Montparnasse sneered.

"How many men did you have to fuck tonight to earn your keep?" His voice was colder than usual. He has been avoiding the girl ever since he told Patron Minette that Eponine was dead. He knew if anyone would see the dent in his lies, it would be her.

Azelma blinked, schooling her features into a look of nonchalance although inside she was simmering with hatred for the man. She never did understand how her sister could stand him. "Is Ponine really gone?" She matched his hard tone. "Don't lie to me Montparnasse!" She added threateningly, or at least as threatening as the small thin girl could be.

Montparnasse just raised a brow, unaffected by her. "She's dead, Azelma." He said flatly, going down the staircase swiftly. Azelma stepped in front of him, delaying his departure.

"How can I be sure you're not lying?"

"You can't, honey. You just have to take my word for it and move on!"

"Oh, like what you're doing huh?" Their eyes were locked on one another. Azelma was growing more persistent by the second, while the young assassin was finding the whole conversation pointless.

"I don't need to move on from anything." His jaw was set tense.

The corner of her lips curved up. "Bullshit!"

The young assassin's lips were pressed into a line, his emotions carefully masked.

Azelma squared her shoulders. "I know you care for Ponine. You may think you've been so stealthy with your affection. But when people are used to seeing a vicious and distant man at times when he does show the slightest hints of concern, people do tend to notice. Well, at least, I noticed." She no longer pressed on, but took a step aside to clear the way. Montparnasse's eyes did not leave her.

"Stop whoring yourself. She never wanted this for you."

Azelma chewed on her lip. She was never as good as Eponine or Gavroche at thievery, she was not as cunning or cold blooded to be an assassin, and like most of the street rats of Paris, she was not wanted in any respectable institution. A girl had to do what she needed to do to keep alive. In her case, with her pretty face and her petit figure, prostitution seemed to be her only option or at least it was the only thing that her father decided she would be good at. If only Eponine didn't get as much in picking pockets and running cons, she too would have been a whore like her younger sister.

"I will find out the truth Montparnasse, with or without your help." They have always been looking out for each other, and Azelma feared that Eponine may be somewhere in need of help. She would be damned if she gave up on the one person who never gave up on her.

Montparnasse stopped on the threshold of the building, the knob of the open door in his hand, the other fixing the hat on his head to keep his eyes properly hidden. "Believe what you want, but she is dead." When he looked back before leaving, he looked Azelma straight in the eye once more and said, "She's better of dead than alive with a life like this, you should understand why."

Azelma stared at the open door long after the man has left. The words he left her with rang true.

* * *

**.Weeks later. **

"Ha! I knew it! I knew you were there listening all this time!" Eponine said triumphantly as the piece of paper she had just slid under the door immediately slipped back out.

Enjolras sighed from the other side of the locked door where he sat on the floor just as he had on the four visits after their first encounter. He ran his hand through his hair that he did not bother to fix these days. He has been pretending to not hear her by not speaking whenever she came to talk. He thought it would deter her from coming back and making a habit of it, but the adamant girl proved him wrong.

When she said she would be back, he thought she was joking. She was not. And with every promise like that that she has left him with, he began to believe it. On her third visit, she talked about her trips to the town and the seemingly mundane things that brought her so much excitement. He insisted to himself that he listened then solely because he had nothing else to do, and not because the outside world intrigued him in anyway, and especially not because he found the girl quite interesting.

On her fourth visit, she seemed flustered. She had said that she had started art lessons with a local artist who the Bertrands knew. But instead of delving on her lessons as he expected her to, she spoke about a reoccurring image in her head of a little girl. She had spoken with uncertainty lacing her words; there was a crack in her usually sure voice.

Unbeknownst him, she had been having dreams of the girl on her first painting, and they have been leaving her feeling unsure of herself. She felt like a sinner and at the same time a saint. Like she had done great wrong to this person, but has also redeemed herself immensely. Not knowing the truth has left her in a desperate crisis, finding herself asking was she a good person or bad.

There was a certain tone of pleading in her voice. For what, he wasn't sure. Was it for reassurance that her worries were unnecessary or for someone to clear things up for her, to make her understand things better? He almost gave in. Almost. But he steeled himself; after all, it was the best for both of them if the visits stop.

When she left with a huff, he thought it would be the last he'd hear from her. It was clear that she had been growing frustrated as his silence stretched. He expected to feel relieved as he listened to her footsteps fade, but he caught himself feeling something dangerously close to remorse. He brushed the feeling aside.

He's been getting better with that recently, brushing feelings aside.

Her fourth visit was made in the middle of the night. He couldn't decide if he had awoken because of the familiar garish images in his nightmare or because of the insistent knocking on his door that he immediately recognized as hers.

From his bed he could hear her concern. With sleep irrefutably chased away from his system, he stood up and sat himself by the door. "I know you're there." She had said, and he took a little bit of comfort from her words, and from the fact that he was no longer in his nightmare.

The truth is, Enjolras has – although he would never admit – grown curious to what the girl had to say about the simplest things. She had provided him with something irregular and unscheduled in his dull days inside the room. And although he appreciated Daniel and Sabine's conversations, even the brief exchange of pleasantries with Madame Claudine, there was something in the way Antionette spoke that reminded him of Paris.

The usual gentleness of tone that most tailored and small-town women had was absent in her almost rough voice. Her choice of words was strong and always direct. The way she spoke had an amount of grace and callousness in it, hinting that it had seen both good and bad days when a little of both was required. It reminded him of Paris because to him Paris was complex and yet deprived, she was concerned yet ignorant, she was soft in her strokes but hard in her battles. Antoinette reminded him of Paris, and he could not help but wonder if it was because she was indeed from there.

Enjolras took a deep breath and surrendered. "I was. Now, what do you want, Antoinette?"

The young man was unconscious at how familiarly he had said her name, like one would have of a sibling or a dear friend. The young woman at the other side of the door broke into a smile, and with confidence she said, "I want to know your name."

* * *

**A/N: **Too much going on? Well please do let me know what you think about the story thus far. I promise all these tiny lines and patches WILL collide at the right time. For now, I would greatly appreciate knowing what you think about the development of the relationship (I am at loss for a better word) between Enjolras and Eponine, as well as the bits involving Azelma+Parnasse and Marius+Cosette.

Also, before I close this off, **THANK YOU** to everyone who left reviews, followed and made this story a favorite. To those who've reviewed, trust that I have deeply considered your thoughts and appreciate them dearly, some of your ideas might even surface in the following chapters.

**Now, before YOU go, please give the story a little love and review, pretty please. **


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